Return
by ephemeral visions
Summary: The lines between enemy and friend have blurred into faces of the past, and perhaps now is the moment to atone. An AU take on Morgana's role and fate in the finale.


**Title**: Return

**Summary**: The lines between enemy and friend have blurred into faces of the past, and perhaps now is the moment to atone. An AU take on Morgana's role and fate in the finale.

**Rating**: T

**Categories**: Drama

**Character(s)**: Morgana

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Merlin_ or any of its characters (no matter how much I may want to!).

* * *

I.

Morgana trekked through the bloodstained weeds and upturned roots strangling the desperate gasps of the Earth. It was not the first time she'd made her way through the path of dying men, and she took little notice of what would have reduced her to horrified tears before. But she had a goal to see the bloodshed through to the end, whatever it may bring, and she made her way to an overhanging cliff above the forces of Camelot.

Mordred stood by her side, eyes indecipherable towards the king that he had loved and who had betrayed him. Looking at him, her heart beat quickly for a moment when she realized that this was the last time she would ever see him. Sending him to his death to reclaim for her a stolen crown seemed a cruel thing, but she knew that he would welcome this final escape from his shredded loyalties. Morgana didn't need the use of her prophetic nightmares to tell her that none of the men here today would see her envisioned world, and she was glad to give Mordred this one chance at peace for the place of her broken promise of victory.

Morgana looked out across the dark, grey fields before them and she saw her brother, the golden king, the thief, swing his mighty sword above his head, crying out to damn certainties of defeat. For the love of Camelot, they returned, lifting their weapons. The survivors of this day, and inwardly she knew she wouldn't be counted amongst them come the end of the war, would remember their fierce, loyal leader sending them to their deaths not for glory or pride, but for their thundering hearts to protect all that they aspired to create in their golden world. His patient, learned, trusting eyes were being etched into their memories and they would remember the great King Arthur who returned honor to the world. A quiet thought in Morgana wondered who would remember her, but she could not allow herself to ponder such things now. The battle commenced as thousands of men descended upon each other for a slaughter that would carve Camlaan's name into the stones beneath their feet with blood, and Mordred left her side for the last time.

II.

The battle was lost, of course, but so many defeats before had taught her infinite patience. Ultimately, it was the sight of Mordred's hastily made grave that crippled her last reserve of faith in whatever cause she'd come here to see through, and she nearly gasped with the effort to forget the memory of a grinning, innocent child running into her arms. Everything she had done had been wasted, she realized with bitter comprehension, and Morgana began to roam the barren land around her, searching for _anything_ to assure her that there remained a purpose for her to fulfill.

Perhaps hours or days later, she heard faint voices, both fatigued, though one tinged with urgency, and she made her way through a dark grove. Stopping behind a large tree, she noticed Arthur leaning down, Mordred's final blow clear on his armor. She thought of the woman who was so enveloped by her love for the dying man before her, shut away behind hundreds of imposing, white stones. She could picture her now, closing her grief away beneath a strained smile for the sake of those around her, and she quickly pushed the image from her mind.

Her steps were quiet, trailing the damp grass beneath her like a ghost, yet Arthur seemed to hear her and looked up. But his expression, guarded by the weariness she supposed he'd memorized with her presence and strained with a fatigue she recognized in herself, stopped her from coming closer. Lying against a split tree on the ground, too weak to even reach for a weapon to defend himself, he had never been more helpless and Morgana could feel the resistance she'd built all these years wearing away and crumbling into ash. The ancient scar of betrayal has weighed heavily on both of them and their souls have become weary things.

The sight of his body, her _brother's_ body, defeated and bleeding has not inspired the exalted victory she'd imagined feeling. And somewhere in the tangled memories of her aching mind, she could remember the echoing laughter of a young boy chasing her through finely decorated halls, a boy who had given her unconditional trust, a boy who would have saved her.

"You look at me with understanding now, Arthur. Could it be that death's hand upon your shoulder has brought you wisdom?" His eyes shifted away from her, almost disappointed _again_.

"You've misjudged me for years, Morgana. I cared for you. All that I wanted for you was happiness."

"Some might call your heart a weakness. It led you here, did it not?" He gave a rueful half smile at that, eyes darkening slightly.

"I've made mistakes that have led me here. Can you admit the same?" Her mouth slightly turned up at that. How like him to want her to return to all of them, even now as the last, strained breaths were leaving his body. _The love and compassion which used to fill your heart_…Was it even possible for her to feel that once more? Not long ago she would have scoffed at the futility of the heart, but now—.

"Perhaps." She looked over his dark wound, almost wincing as he did when he attempted to turn closer to her. "You fought well," her face was suddenly marred by a familiar bitter expression, "as did your sorcerer."

His eyebrows rose slightly at that. "High praise, sister. I never imagined I'd hear it from your lips, even before—" Before she left them, before she betrayed everyone. He cleared his throat, "How is…how is the boy?"

"I buried him some time ago." She tried to keep her voice distant, but he noticed her words faltering.

There was pain etched on his face when he looked straight at her, "He would have been a knight of Camelot for all his years—a man worth remembering with pride. You took that from him, as you took so much from everyone you cared about."

She looked away, ignoring the stringing sensation in her eyes. "I know. You need not remind me of my crimes." She knew what she had done to Mordred and how she had ruined his memory for ages to come, tainting him as the great King Arthur's murderer. She knew what pain she had inflicted upon everyone, pushing them all away in her own fear and distrust.

Arthur said nothing more, instead looking over the form of the woman he once trusted wholeheartedly. She looked down, unable to meet his clear gaze any longer, and his eyes softened.

A sharp, rustling sound from the darkness caused Morgana to turn suddenly. Merlin stood before her (_Emrys_, hidden in such plain sight, a voice taunted), brandishing Excalibur, and looking every inch the sorcerer fated to be her doom.

"It truly is over now, Morgana. Though I blame myself for what you've become, I will not allow you to exact your revenge." He poised the blade near her heart, ready to attack should she move. She could see the shadow of an innocent boy in his determined eyes, donning a grin, whispering pained, comforting words as he held her gasping body close. Though he may have expected a sneer at his threat, she instead sat down upon the ground and looked up at him, eyes clear of hatred for the first time in years.

"It seems the time for repaying old sins is done, for I no longer have a taste for more blood. Have no fear, warlock. I will not harm my brother." He seemed to find a glimmer of the beauty of years past and lowered the sword, eyes anxiously darting to Arthur, who gave him a small, tired smile. In that moment, saw a petite, smiling girl handing her flowers, wishing for her happiness as she embraced her, and she would have smiled at the vision if it didn't hurt her heart to do so.

III.

Morgana hurried through the dry, unyielding branches and thorns that seemed to guard the mystical grounds through them, venturing forth to verify their path. The dark clouds that had shrouded the sky were falling away to reveal the glimmer of dawn behind them, and the sorceress felt crucial seconds slipping back into the past.

After what seemed to be a mere moment, Morgana suddenly heard Merlin cry out Arthur's name, fiercely and desperately, and she felt an utterly new, numb defeat settle inside her at the sound. So for all of their insistences that good would triumph, her brother's death at the birth of Albion was all that awaited them. She quietly retreated from the shore and approached Arthur's still form. She knelt before him and gently touched his arm, her throat inexplicably tight at the sight of his closed eyes.

Merlin, however, was not willing to give in just yet, and he called out a name, his voice frightening in its terrible, raw grief. In what seemed to be seconds, a sweeping crash startled Morgana as she tightened her hold on Arthur, releasing a small gasp at the sight before her. The sorcerer stood up and looked towards the great dragon that had landed before them, and begged him for one last favor. Taking the three upon his back, the dragon swept off towards Avalon. Tearing across miles of land, Morgana looked out across the fields below, eyes widening at the view.

As they finally landed beside the shores of Avalon, the dragon—Kilgharrah, she'd heard Merlin cry out—looked over at her with suspicious, displeased golden eyes and she met his stare defiantly. Not seeing any malice in her face, he gave a tired grunt, "I see the witch survived."

Merlin, struggling to hold Arthur's heavy weight in his arms, shook his head quickly, "Forget your old warnings. I need to help Arthur. Please—"

"Merlin…" the dragon's voice was a note softer, almost pitying.

But the warlock was not to be placated, instead yelling out with exertion as he desperately lifted Arthur before him. "I can't lose him! He's my friend!"

"Merlin there is nothing you can do." This time harsher, more absolute.

"I failed?" The disbelief in his eyes was almost palpable. To come so close to a goal, only to fail? That was a feeling Morgana knew far too well.

"No, young warlock, for everything you have dreamt of has come to pass." Kilgharrah did not miss the sorceress' dark, skeptical look at his words, but ignored her to continue, "No man, no matter how great, can know his destiny. Some lives are foretold."

Morgana took a step forward, eyes flashing with anger. "And what right have you to say such a thing? Why not stop it, if our destinies are so clear to you?"

The dragon glanced over at her, "You should know very well, that fate has an odd way of having her way, despite our actions." His eyes turned thoughtful, "though perhaps some exceptions may lie along each path."

"And what do you mean by that?"

Face darkening, he turned from her once more, "It is best you never know. Though I believe there is one final task that awaits you here." Indignant, Morgana made ready to demand answers to this creature's riddles, but stopped when she saw Merlin's hollow expression. Kilgharrah stood taller and looked at the young man.

"You have done your duty well. And remember, Arthur is not just a king; he is the once and future king. Take heart, young warlock, for when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again." Merlin glanced up once more. "It has been a privilege to know you. The story we have been a part of will live long in the minds of men." He dipped his head low once, and with that, he flew off into the distant, vast sky above.

It took a few moments before Merlin seemed to comprehend what had happened and he stood immobile and silent. A sharp, stinging sensation turned Morgana's thoughts away from him, as she touched her face. It had been so long since she felt the weight of true tears, and she felt an acute ache as her eyes rested once more on Arthur.

She had heard the stories of Avalon from her sister (though she would not allow herself to think of the woman who had so changed her destiny, for better or worse) and looked out across the lake. The water shimmered beneath the harsh glare of the sun and she could feel the barest hints of magic beneath the still lake. A lake of healing, of rebirth… Dragging out a long abandoned boat from the tall weeds near the shore, she stopped to catch her breath and check the oncoming threat of tears. "We must send him to the lake." That seemed to finally get Merlin's attentions and he gently laid Arthur upon the ground.

She took his place next to the king and noticed Merlin walking away from Arthur, Excalibur in hand and watched him as he looked out at the water. He stepped back and threw the blade into the lake and she saw an arm rise up to catch the sword, which then dipped back into the water, mere ripples left to look back at. He returned to Arthur in mere seconds, eyes stormy and determined. She had heard of the mystical origins of the king's famous sword, but could only faintly think of the implications of the steel returning to the depths of Avalon. She knew then that his Camelot was to face the fate of all of them, fading into a brilliant, haunted shadow that would exist only in memory.

The serving boy always by his king's side, bearing each blow and smile with a patience of centuries beyond him, arranged the forge with such care, she could see the devotion to his friend with each motion. Everything he had done, anyone he had hurt, it had all been for him. And as she saw Merlin lean over Arthur, sobbing in anger and confusion, Morgana finally understood everything.

As his breaths hushed and he loosened his grasp on the forge, she slowly made her way over to him. Kneeling next to the water, she looked at Arthur's careworn, pale face and whispered to him, "Such impatience you always had to see new sights, always anxious to prove yourself as worthy."

Merlin had become silent, looking out at the isle of Avalon, unable to move. Morgana felt a twinge in her heart and she turned to him, "He won't be alone. I will stay and watch over him." He barely nodded, stepping away from the water as she climbed inside the forge. Stopping suddenly, she quickly turned to him, whispering in an uncertain tone, "When you see Gwe…If you see Guinevere again…tell her I'm so—tell her he's safe now." She looked down at the forge. Somewhere deep inside, Morgana knew that this would mean more to the woman than any attempts of hers to apologize for the scars she'd left on her.

When she looked back up at him, she was startled to see him choking back sobs. She reached out her hand, uncertain of what she wanted to do, and nearly backed away when he extended his hand to lightly grasp her wrist. A moment passed as they looked at each other, terrible guilt and grief becoming locked away in their eyes, fading worlds and impossible destinies racing between their gaze, when Morgana slowly withdrew her wrist and stepped back. Merlin looked down, letting out a strained breath, and closed his eyes. "You will look after him, then? Until he returns?"

"Yes." He gave the smallest hint of a nod and stepped back, staring blankly at the horizon.

Her hands trembled slightly as she gently lifted Arthur's head and placed it upon her lap, her hand covering his forehead like it did so long ago when he spoke of fantastic dreams for their land and she kept any nightmares at bay for him. She heard Merlin's broken, quiet incantation that pushed them forward in the water and forced herself to look straight towards Avalon. Holding her brother tightly, she knew centuries may await them, but she felt a slight peace with herself for the first time in years. As they drew nearer to the isle, she gave a tearful smile and bowed her head, "Rest well, brother. And I will see you rise again when the time comes."

FIN

* * *

A/N: This piece mostly came from what I felt was some injustice on the writers' part towards an interesting and complicated character, both in the show and its original (and quite different) mythology. In some versions of the legend, three queens meet King Arthur and Sir Bedivere upon the shore and it is Morgan le Fay (the woman who had started several conflicts with Camelot—including, according to some, the final battle between Arthur and Mordred) who takes her brother's head upon her lap, saying "Oh my brother, why have you tarried so long from me?" I wanted to do a sort of blend between this and _Merlin_ canon, all the while giving Morgana her much anticipated redemption, so I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews, comments, ideas, etc. are always welcome.


End file.
